The Harwood Butcher
by MacyBlue
Summary: A short ficlet. A coming-of-age teen muses as he watches Tommy head to prison back in '71
1. Default Chapter

**Title**: The Harwood Butcher  
  
**Author:** MacyBlue  
  
**Contact:** white_wolf_silver_knight@yahoo.com  
  
**Disclaimer:** I do not own Grand Theft Auto or any of its content. This story is merely a figment of my imagination. I am not making any money off this.  
  
**Summary:** A short ficlet. A coming-of-age teenager's thoughts as he follows the trial of Tommy Vercetti back in '71  
* * *  
  
"Come on, Rick!" Mike yelled to me.   
  
"Move your ass, they're bringing him out!" Eddy yelled to the gang. All seven of us quickly ran through the crowd. We climbed on top of a Chinese fish truck to see through the people.  
  
I slicked black hair back with my hands. I was determined to scare the world. We all were, me and the rest of the gang. I think we had an "official" name once, but it was forgotten long ago. Now everyone had dubbed us the Red Light gang, 'cause our turf was the Red Light District. Sure, we were small time, but I'm sure every mob man started small.  
  
I looked at my gang, my friends. We all were a replica of each other, slicked back hair, tattered black shirt, and worn blue jeans. I was the youngest of the seven, but that was ok, nobody started shit with me because of my age. We all knew what we wanted in the end: Wealth, power, and respect. And we would all spend the rest of our life working for it through guns and blood.  
  
Just like he did. We all watched and waited for Tommy Vercetti to leave the courthouse. Liberty had given him the name "The Harwood Butcher". He was a true mobster. He had killed eleven men. People cheered for him, people condemned him. He hadn't ratted on Sonny or the mob. He would take his sins, and the sins of others, with him to prison.  
  
Everybody knew he could've talked, and the FBI would've let him walk, but he didn't. He kept his mouth shut. So now reporters and civilians wait outside the courthouse for him. He was sentenced to fifteen years, not bad for a body count of eleven. The mafia would make sure he got out, 'cause that's what they did, they protect their own, right? The mob had kept this all quiet. There was no direct evidence to organized crime in the Vercetti case, but everyone on the street knew. They all knew that Tommy was their man. But why had it carried this far? All they had to do was give the police a fall guy or bribe a few jurors, why was Tommy walking out in handcuffs?  
  
I don't care. All of us didn't care. Tommy Vercetti may be on his way to prison for slaughtering eleven men, but we didn't care. He was still a legend. He was Tommy Vercetti, the Harwood Butcher.  
  
"Look, look! He's walking out!" Marcello elbowed Eddy in the ribs. We all looked at the doors and stared in anticipation.  
  
He walked out of the courthouse, cuffed, and escorted by police. He ignored the reporters as they screamed questions and took pictures. He walked with his head to the ground.  
  
He didn't smile, he didn't cheer. Not like any other man would. Why not be happy? Come on Tommy, you know they won't make you stay in there. You'll be out in a year, tops. You were famous. You are now a legend. Why hang your head? Smile, Tommy. Cheer, cause now you were a made man. After prison you'll be rich, you'll be one of Forelli's top men. You're a made man.  
  
"Look at him, man? Isn't he so cool?" Ben whispered in my ear, his voice full of a childlike glee. I nodded and grinned. Yeah, he was cool, he didn't have to smile to be cool. He just was. He was our boyhood hero. He may have been a killer, but everyone loved him despite that.  
  
Michael couldn't stand it anymore. He stood up and moved to the end of the truck, shoving me away. "Outta my way, Rick," He started to wave his arms toward Tommy and scream, "Tommy! Over here! Over here!" The rest of the group joined in, trying to catch the attention of our hero.  
  


Tommy began to look around and examine the crowd. His face stayed emotionless. Slowly, he turned his head our way. The Red Light gang began to grin and wave and scream, but I fell silent when his eyes caught mine. I stared, I wasn't sure what to think. Brown eyes stared back. Through his emotionless expression and stiff jaw, his eyes looked. angry. Worn. Tainted.

This was Tommy Vercetti, right? Why didn't he act like the maniac I heard he was? He should look into the crowd with wicked eyes and a cocky smirk. He should turn to the reports and tell them that they haven't seen the last of him. He should give society the finger and tell them to go fuck themselves, and that he'd be out in a day. But all he did was stare.  
  
Our caught eyes broke away as he reached the armored car. The cop opened the door and allowed the handcuffed man entrance. Slowly, Tommy Vercetti disappeared behind cold doors. The Red Light gang's voice died down, as did the sound of many reporters. As the van drove off, it was deathly quiet. The blood shed in Liberty was only one in millions of murders, but these were different. These murders made a small-time man set, only to be sent to prison soon after.  
  
"Wow," Marcello looked awestricken, "I would love to meet him." The gang slowly nodded their heads. No inappropriate language, no horsing around. This was a moment of silence for the hero of the streets of Liberty.   
  
Those people Tommy murdered had it coming, right? It as right to call him a hero, wasn't it? He didn't rat on the family, he kept true to his word, true to his friends.  
  
"Let's go." Mike, the senior of our gang, ushered us off the truck. We all jumped to the ground and walked together down the street.  
  
We walked in silence, thinking about what had happened. Marcello was once again the one to break the silence. "Maybe we'll be able to meet him when he gets out of prison. I bet he's a great guy." We all agreed.   
  
Of course he was great, he was _our_ hero.  
  
'Cause he was Tommy Vercetti.  



	2. Don't Cut out my Paper Heart

[2]  
  
Don't cut out my paper heart, I ain't dyin' anyway   
  
Take a look at eye full towers  
  
Never trust them dirty liars   
  
Sippin' lemon yellow booze 'ole' leadbelly sings the blues  
  
All dressed up on wedding day keep on trippin' anyway  
  
I am I am I said I'm not myself, but I'm not dead and I'm not for sale  
  
So keep your bankroll lottery eat your salad day deathbed motorcade  
  
Fake the heat and scratch the itch  
  
Skinned up knees and salty lips  
  
I'll breathe your life vicks vapor life  
  
And when you binge I purge alike  
  
Let go it's harder holding on  
  
One more trip and I'll be gone  
  
So keep your head up  
  
Keep it on, just a whisper I'll be gone  
  
Take a breath and make it big  
  
It's the last you'll ever ge   
  
Break your neck with diamond noose  
  
It's the last you'll ever choose  
  
I am I am I said I'm not myself, but I'm not dead and I'm not for sale  
  
Hold me closer, closer let me go let me be just let me be  
  
- Trippin' on a Hole in a Paper Heart by Stone Temple Pilots 


End file.
